Street Fame by K. Elliott

disappeared without telling nobody shit, huh?”
“I got a lot on my mind. I left so I could think.”
“So are you still going to make this money or what, man? I’m hurting out here.”
“Come over. Let’s talk in person.”
“I’ll be there in five minutes.”
*****
    JoJo and Twin sat at the kitchen table. “So what’s the word, Fatboy?”
Tommy’s face was serious. “I’ve been thinking about this real estate thing hard, and I want to pursue it, man, before we all get locked up.”
“Nigga, what makes you think we’re going to get locked up?” Twin said.
“I don’t know if were going to get locked up, but I know the outcome of these situations are usually ugly. I mean, look at Jamal and Dawg. Look at Prince and JB, Cornbread and Rollo ... These niggas are legends in the drug game, and they are all either in jail or dead.”
“So you’re quitting?” JoJo asked.
“No. I can’t quit just yet. I’m going to need to get a million dollars before I can quit. A million dollars will set me straight.”
Twin laughed. “Hell, if I could make a million dollars I would quit, too. Ain’t no goal in the drug game. A million turns into two million, and two million turns into three, and three turns into the pen.”
“Exactly. And that’s what I’m going to avoid.”
“So who is going to school you on the real estate game?” JoJo asked.
“This old cat named Don. This nigga is so rich, the nigga got a Maybach Benz and shit. He’s made it in the game.”
“So let me get this straight … You need to make a million dollars to give to this man to invest,” JoJo said.
“Right.”
“So what are you going to make off the money?”
“Like two hundred thousand dollars in a year, then we’ll do more investments and make more money,” Tommy said enthusiastically.
“That ain’t no fuckin money,” Twin said.
“So, you got two hundred thousand dollars?”
“No, but I look at it like this: Why spend a million to make two hundred thousand dollars?”
“Because it’s legit.”
“Fuck being legit,” Twin said. “I’m going to be a crook for life.”
“So, Tommy, what’s up with Manny?”
“He’s still in jail, but I’m going to call his brother and see what’s going on. If we have to, we’ll buy from his brother.”
“Now that’s what I’m talking about—doing what we do best,” Twin said, smiling.
*****
    Twin was in the drive-thru line at Taco Bell when a man walked up to the car and said, “Open the door, nigga.”
Twin looked up and recognized the man. He smiled and opened the door.
J-Black sat on the passenger side of the Range Rover. “Order me a chalupa and a Sprite, nigga.”
When they got to the window to pay, the bill came up to $8.93. Twin glanced at J-Black. He wanted to ask him for his portion of the money, but J-Black’s expression looked as if he had no intention of paying.
Twin pulled away from the window. He handed J-Black the chalupa then the Sprite.
“I’ve been tailing you every since you left that faggot-ass nigga’s house.”
“Tommy?”
“Yeah, that motherfucker.”
“So where’s you car?” Twin asked.
A sudden hardness appeared on J-Black’s face. “Don’t worry about where my car is. That shit don’t concern you.”
Twin steered the car into the middle of the road then stopped at the traffic light. He added some mild sauce on his taco then pulled away from the light. They rode in silence.
Twin wondered what in the hell was on J-Black’s mind.
“So what’s been up with Tommy?” J-Black asked.
“I don’t know,” Twin said.
J-Black pulled out a chrome 9mm then cocked the hammer. “Wrong answer, muthafucka. I know you know what’s up with him because you just left his house.”
Twin pulled the car to the side of the rode. “J-J-J-Black, man, please put the gun away.”
J-Black aimed the gun at Twin’s head, took a bite of his chalupa then squeezed the trigger.
*****
    Mark Pratt was at a table all by himself, in the Uptown Carousel, when Jennifer spotted